Speakers Collective blog: Tip of the iceberg

In 2008, Jonny Benjamin, aged 21, was poised to leap from Waterloo Bridge. A passer-by talked him back, before departing. Jonny's search for his saviour prompted a film, a massively successful campaign to raise mental health awareness, and a charity, Speakers Collective.

​Johnny's remarkable journey began with a diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder (a combination of schizophrenia and bipolar) at the age of 20. A suicidal episode instigated that incident on Waterloo Bridge where his story could so easily have concluded. Instead, the incident sparked a promotional film for the charity Rethink Mental Illness entitled Finding Mike (Mike being chosen at random because Jonny didn’t get the guy’s name). Following a social media campaign, Jonny was reunited with his saviour, Neil Layburn, This prompted a multi award-winning Postcard Productions film, The Stranger on a a Bridge, aired on Channel 4, reaching an estimated global audience of 319 billion. Jonny and Neil have become prominent spokespeople on preventing suicide, while The Stranger on a Bridge has been adapted into a stage musical by Lightbox Theatre.

Neil Laybourn with Jonny Benjamin, whose life he saved. Credit: Happiful.com

Buoyed by the phenomenal success of his campaign to find Neil, Jonny went on to set up Speakers Collective in 2018. This social enterprise is described on Jonny's website as "mental health speakers who work together with a shared commitment to challenge stigma, facilitate important conversations, and promote learning on a variety of social issues. After contacting a colleague of Jonny's, Jo Emmerson, I was invited to contribute a blog article (reproduced below).

​Tip of the Iceberg

We often hear the statistic that mental health issues will affect 1 in 4 of us. This implies a quantifiable figure. Statistics is a science, so we could assume taking any population, from a country, down to the city, town or village we call home, then dividing by four, would provide a picture of the total number of people who will face psychiatric disabilities.

​As an example, I might consider the Hibernian versus Dundee Scottish Premiership football fixture I attended before Christmas. The official attendance on a bitterly cold mid-December evening was 13516 hardy souls. So, around 3400 from that crowd were living with the potential to succumb to depression, bipolar disorder, eating disorders, schizophrenia, post-traumatic stress disorder, or problems revolving around the vicious circle of alcohol abuse and mental health (known as dual or co-occurring diagnosis.) Sociological factors also fluctuate across the globe, and in countries with higher incidences of poverty, or where the populace live in warzones or under oppressive regimes, 1 in 4 is surely an underestimate.

But sticking closer to home, another reason 25% is undoubtedly the tip of a larger iceberg is that denial is so often a symptom. People might be aware of a rising sense of anxiety, or despair. Instead of admitting this, for fear of upsetting loved ones, or jeopardizing their employment, they might opt for silence. Especially amongst males, the proverbial ‘stiff upper lip’ has been casting a long shadow for generations.
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When I was sinking towards a depressive meltdown in my 20s in the late 1980s, mental health was heavily stigmatized. I was still living at home, and my increasingly unnerved parents were simply advised by our GP to ensure I took anti-depressant tablets every night. My mum would add I might feel better after a shave and a shower in the morning, even as I was becoming overwhelmed with delusional thoughts. Alas, neither pills nor regular grooming halted my downwards spiral. Eventually, I performed a violent act of self-harm that prompted an ambulance journey to an intensive psychiatric care unit, where I was formally sectioned.

​But even after days of heavy medication blurring my objectivity, there was an urge to deny I was ill. I felt like a wrongfully convicted prisoner, my every action scrutinized by nurses, my showering and shaving taking place under close supervision. I would plead my case to the psychiatrists doing their rounds, insisting I was the victim of some terrible mistake.

​Let’s fast-forward. We’re approaching Spring 2022. From being in a position of good health (touches desk), I can view that aggrieved outlook all those years ago as being part of my illness. Much as I denied I was ill, my family and medical professionals recognised I was lying to everyone, especially myself. One of the biggest hurdles anyone undergoing a mental episode faces is this internal struggle between reality and fantasy. Thankfully, mental health is now far more openly discussed. I only wish my late parents could have accessed something called the Internet, where links would have allowed them to tap into a vast reservoir of guidance and support. Just like the community of kindred spirits who form Speakers Collective.

Mark Fleming is an author from Edinburgh. Diagnosed bipolar in his 20s, the ups in his life have included becoming a parent, and his post-punk band being played on Radio 1; the downs, spells in psychiatric hospital. He has talked about his experiences in prisons, schools and community groups, and just finished a memoir entitled 1976 (due for publication later in 2022.)